Lyrics истерический дог - а вот и я

Here you are.

You are the uncovered sun.
You are the dusty courtyard of blindness.
Even though you shield yourself with your hand
but you will see me anyway.

Perhaps someone will notice.
Perhaps someone will understand.

You are empty ditches
you are unopened doors.
The sun is getting closer. And believe me
you will live to see us.

Imagine how you contradict
but wait, first imagine:

you are fragile roads
and given so easily a trolleybus;
rolling like a ball, springing
on unpaved asphalt.

You are a river of sleepy bodies
you are a noisy strict intersection,
and you stand on the shore.
The sun is getting closer to nobody.

Imagine how you float:
but wait, imagine that you

you don't know how to swim at all:
you are an impossible paddle
over impossible water.
The age-old sun is getting closer.

Maybe someone will come
for the impossibility of the horizon.
Perhaps it will just blow.
Perhaps it just passed.

You are unawakened dreams
about the impossibility of water,
winter that has not come
self-shy;

you are how the water is removed
into an underground casket. Why
spring freshness divorces
all in unopened smoke?

Perhaps someone will find out.
Closer, sun, you, closer,
the head is getting closer to sleep.
Perhaps someone will guess:

you are how winter is cleaned
into an underground boat. For what
is all your firmament impassable?
You are getting closer, and, having figured out,

imagine how autumn is taken away
imagine how the earth is harvested,
imagine noon falling asleep.
You are the last days of the track.

Here I am.